


Flying Away

by Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion



Series: Angsty Silvergifting (and Other Angsty Celebrimbor Things) [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Poor Celebrimbor, Silverfisting, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion/pseuds/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion
Summary: Tyelpë copes with the harsh treatment he receives.





	Flying Away

Annatars soft lips pressed to Tyelpë’s, hot and impatient. Loving hands open his robes, fingers brushing against his nipples, hands caressing the smooth skin, sliding down to his hips, only to turn Tyelpë’s light sigh into a moan. His head is so dizzy when he bends over for his love, to be entered, gently, slowly, Annatar’s sweet lips on the back of his neck.

So tender. So kind. So very welcome. And so long gone. Right now, he has to bite his lip, not in a seductive demonstration of pleasure but to hide his pain. His captor is particularly harsh today.

He would like to say the betrayal hurts more than anything Sauron has done to his body, but that would be a noble lie. He would choose to be betrayed several times more, to cry over a candle and a journal on a cold Eregion night but keep his skin safe from whips and knives. He would have his heart shattered but not his bones. He would be lied to, cheated on, but please, none of _this_.

It is so shameful, to think of what they had. To recall how happily he would give himself to this man he barely knew, how he believed himself to be attractive and loved. Tyelpë hated his body now, ashamed and disgusted to no end. His tormentor gave him enough markings, yet he would add more still, even if mere scratches. Useless. Corrupt. How could he think someone could truly like him that much? He’d never even been kissed before Annatar. He’d barely held hands with anyone. Nobody wanted him, and for a reason. The only time someone did was a lie. He wasn’t made for these things.

It hurts, the heavy body on top of him, squeezing the pain out of his numerous injuries, making his damaged skin bleed and sting. It hurts, the way he pushes into Tyelpë, no trace of that gentle lover he once was. The grip on Tyelpë’s wrists does not hurt, yet it is sickening, maddening, outrageous even. This cannot be true. It must be a nightmare of some sort.

Sauron’s heavy breath tickles his ear as that tear does his cheek. Tyelpë closes his eyes calmly and counts all the battles he’s been in. By today, he’s run out of wars, kings of the Noldor, family members, rulers of Numenor, big buildings of Ost-in-Edhil, and, finally, dots on the ceiling. He knows there is five on the left and one slightly to the right, and that the other one to the right is not a dot, it’s a fly, she just likes to sit there. When Tyelpë is done with the battles, he silently tells himself a story about the fly.

Little fly was born in Lindon. She travelled to the Misty Mountains, but it was too cold there, and there weren’t other flies, so she left. She sat on the door of Moria and waited until Narvi returned from a trip to Ost-i -Edhil and spoke the password. Then, she flew in and ate so much food in the King’s kitchens she was barely able to run away from the angry cook. Little fly continued travelling Middle-Earth until she arrived to Barad-Dur. In the dark fortress, there were many evil things, and the food wasn’t very edible. So the fly returned to Lindon and sailed with many Elves who had kind smiles and good food.

Tyelpë wouldn’t mind kind smiles. He agrees to give up good food for that. Ignoring Sauron’s grunts, he thinks that he would like to end his life here and have another chance on the white shores he’d left so long ago. Then, he would not do any of the shameful things, only innocent activities. He would read books and travel like they used to do with father, uncles, and Fëanor. Perhaps he could meet some family? Great-uncle Arafinwë was very nice to him during the War of Wrath. Maybe he would be nice to Tyelpë still, even after all the mistakes he’s committed. He would meet grandmother Nerdanel and her father Mahtan, and Vala Aulë, the friend of Noldor. Surely he must be there, bathing in sunlight and talking to his family; why is he here, in such a miserable place, and why is _this_ taking so long?

Ah, there. Finally. Sauron leaves promptly - perhaps he has war matters to deal with, and maybe he is losing? Tyelpë is left here, soiled and exposed. He sits up on his cot and closes his eyes, pretending that he is in his bed in Fëanor’s house, and he only needs to sit here for a few moments before getting dressed and going to the town square. He wipes the tears with the old blanket he imagines is his tunic. Everything will be alright. He would only rest a little bit, and it will be fine.


End file.
